Oakley came back around the time the sun was going down. Angus had caught a few rabbits, and traded their skins for salt, so they had a royal meal. Afterwards, they let the fire burn down and told stories around the dying coals. Oakley told a story about a princess who burned down her own castle, leaving only ruins. Angus sat back, enjoying the heat and the feeling of being full.

“What happened at the meeting?” He asked sleepily.

“Well,” Oakley said, leaning forward. “The enemy has tons more men than we do. It’s really brave of the three to stand up to him.”

“Oh?” Angus woke a little.

“They way our only chance is to get them on good ground. Draw them out, you know? We’re marching west in the morning. There’s a place, between rills, and that’s where we’ll fight.”

“Anything else?” Angus sat forward, too.

“Well, I suggested booby traps. Thin, long holes, the perfect size for a man to trap his foot in.”

“And break his leg.”

“Exactly.”

“And?” Angus suddenly wished he’d been there.

“And, we also talked about sharing resources.”

“Which we had none to contribute.”

“Actually, I talked you up some. You’re going on the front lines, my friend.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re going in the back.”

“I’m a slingman. We’re very important.”

“And therefore well protected.”

Oakley laughed. “You’ll be fine. Let’s go to bed.”

Angus put the goat in the tent, and went to sleep with his sword nearby. He tossed and turned late into the night.

They woke to the sound of swords clashing on swords, and of children screaming, and women hollering, and of war cries and blood soaking into the well-trodden earth.

Angus jumped to his feet, sword in hand. Oakley, beside him, followed suit, and they stalked out into the chaotic night. The smell of blood and steel bit into their nostrils. They climbed the nearest hill and saw—to their dismay—an army surrounding their camp. They wore dark colors, blending into the night, and were crushing the clover-shaped camp like an insect. Forming a scraggly line, men in nightclothes and armor duked it out with their enemies. They were trying to make a circle around what was left of their tents and families, but they were being cut down from all sides.

“This is what happened to my camp.” Oakley cried out, in horrified clarity. He started to run down the hill, but Angus grabbed him by the back of his shirt.

“Wait,” he said. “We’ll go there.” He pointed to a part of the line that had almost disappeared, so weak it had been reduced to one or two thick.

Oakley nodded and they ran for it.

What followed was bloodier than fighting any giant. Angus was covered in the stuff. The line had almost broken by the time they got there, and it was Oakley, Angus and a precious few defending it. The blood soaked his clothes, it dripped off of his elbows. He wondered if any of it was his own, then went back to the ceaseless, inglorious hacking that was battle.

When morning came, the tide of enemies subdued, and Angus and Oakley were able to hand the line off to a troop of capable young men. They headed back towards their tent. All around, tents were tipped and ripped open. Angus chased off a man he caught looting a tent full of corpses. Oakley killed another who had been dragging a young woman towards the enemy line. Children scrambled among the wreckage, wide eyed and trembling. Babies cried. Women had cut their hair short and rubbed themselves with ashes, tears streaming down their faces to drip off chins and noses.

They found Edda the goat facedown in the dust. No one had eaten her carcass; the kill had been just for sport. Oakley turned away, face pale. Angus picked the goat up and skinned and dressed her. They build a fire and ate her in morose silence.

After a short nap, they walked to the main tent, where the trio of leaders were arguing over a map. The two brothers walked in. Oakley watched them for a moment, then slammed his sword hilt into the table, leaving a dent in the wood.

“I say,” he said in the ensuing silence. “We fall back.”

“What?!” Kaarle yelped.

“There is no surrender.” Cato replied, “These are killers for sport.”

“Hear me out—” Oakley said. “We’re defending too much ground, right now, we’re spread thin. But we even bunched up, we don’t have a chance. So, remember those pits we were planning? We’ll use those, and anything else we can scratch up. We set them up, then fall back—” he drew a smaller circle on the map. “And we can hold them off a little longer. They’ve got to be exhausted by now. Maybe with enough resistance, they’ll scatter—these aren’t the most steadfast men.”

Paithoon nodded. “And with them held a little farther off, we can start using our slings and arrows. Ajax is at a disadvantage, there.”

“Good,” Angus said, stepping up beside his brother. “The sooner the better—the men are getting tired.”

The trio each nodded and set to making preparations. Angus and Oakley went back to the front line, relieving people to work on the traps. A lot of men were pulled back, and the line struggled. The enemy became enthused. Angus fought till his arm became numb, then he switched to his left arm. He gained a cut on the cheek, and felt it heal.

He almost stopped right in the middle of the battle field. He felt the crown, still warm from healing him. Trying to call up it’s power, he failed to block a blow entirely, and it nipped his hand. The crown grew warm again. Clinging to the feel of the power, he called to it desperately.

“Fall back,” a man came up behind the line. “Fall back, follow me.”

Men broke ranks and ran after the man. Angus covered their backs as they ran. Oakley turned back and covered him with his sling as Angus ran. It was a tricky maze through the booby traps, and their enemies didn’t bother following it. Angus heard their screams echo behind him, then saw them fall as he covered his fellow men. They kept coming, but their ranks were thinned. When the men finally turned and held their ground, the scattered ranks of their enemies were easy to break through. Their line was broken.

The men of the trio advanced, slowly, oh so slowly. It was agonizingly slow. Angus felt for the crown—for its power—and sent what he could to the men around him. They pressed forward more quickly now, and their enemy was fleeing. In the distance, they could hear shouts through the wrecked tents. Angus dared to hope they were winning. He sent a man to check with the others, with the trio as well.

He came back panting. “They need us on the south side.”

Angus turned to Oakley. “You keep half here.”

Oakley nodded. “You, you and you—your men with me.”

“The rest, to me!” Angus yelled, and the men cheered. “This way!” He called, then turned to the messenger, who was staring.

“Your crown, sir. It’s glowing.”

Angus felt for the energy, felt it sifting into the men around him. “Never mind that, lead the way.”

“Right.”

They trotted across camp—a smaller camp, now. Women and children shivered around small fires. The wounded kept them company, moaning.

Reaching the south side, they found the line nearly breached. Plunging into the opening gap, they fought as if their arms didn’t hurt, as if most of them weren’t bleeding, and as if all of them weren’t covered in blood. They fought like devils.

Angus kept on the front line, connecting the crown to the new men around him. They surged forward. The enemies seemed endless, every one they cut down was replaced by two it seemed.

Finally, finally, finally, the tide ebbed. Angus fought on, mind numb and bleary. The sling men appeared, shooting over Angus’s head to attack those behind the enemy’s front line. The rocks made a sick thudding sound as they collided with skulls.

Oakley was among those slingmen. Angus could feel him through the crown, which tied him to the men with invisible threads of energy.

When the line broke, Angus and his men surged forward, destroying those who were in their path. The enemy fled, and they pursued them, springing over booby traps as they went. They were covered in blood, reeking of it, and they should have been exhausted. Those they cut down were. These panted and swore and stumbled into their graves.

Not so Angus and the trio’s men. They ran as if they had wings, running down their enemies.

They ran up into the hills, following the tide of frightened enemies. When there were no more of them in sight, Angus and the trio’s men stopped. Angus swayed. The crown withdrew its power. Then the world went black.

He woke in his and Oakley’s tent. The remainder of the goat meat was nearby, and Angus reached over and nabbed it. A large tear was in the ceiling above him, and sunlight drifted through, alighting on his fair hair. Mud, too clung to the walls where it had dried, flakes of it coming off to dust everything in their vicinity.

Oakley came in and laughed. “I should have known you’d go straight for the food.”

Angus grinned. “I saved you some.”

Oakley sat beside him and they shared a quiet meal.

“You know,” Oakley said, afterwards. “I’ve been thinking.”

“There are cures for that.” Angus inserted.

Oakley rolled his eyes. “I was thinking that I should stay here. These people need me, and I want to stay with them.”

Angus nodded. “What will you do?”

“I was thinking I’ll marry into Caz’s camp, then I can restart my own tribe from there. Kachina’s willing.”

“Kachina?”

“Caz’s daughter—you know, the one who got us food when we first came. She and I have been talking. She wants her own camp, soon. And— and we get along well. Apparently I saved her life. Remember the girl we saved, who was being dragged away to the enemy line?”

Angus thought for a moment, then nodded.

“That was her, and she respects me—I respect her, too. I’d like to marry her.”

“And she wants to marry you?”

“You think she wouldn’t?” Oakley laughed. “She’s willing. And we agreed she gets to choose my next wife.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “She knows I’ll be good to her.”

Angus examined him for a moment. “What about love?”

“What about love? Listen, my mother cared for love. I’d rather care for my wife, and someday, my children.” He had deep circles under his eyes. “Judge me if you wish, but I’m marrying Kachina.”

“No, no I don’t judge you—who am I to do so? I just want you to be happy.”

“I will be.”

“Then I’ll stay for the wedding.”

They rose, Angus shaking off his exhaustion, and stepped outside. Waiting for them was the trio and Caz, and others—small crowds, drifting and exhausted, of women and men. Angus waved half-heartedly. They watched in silence.

“Angus,” Paithoon said. “We’re glad you’re awake.”

“Thank you, but why the gathering? I’m no king.”

“You don’t remember?” Oakley said. “You killed Ajax.”

“I did?”

Oakley nodded.

“Ah.”

“You have our thanks forever; we are in your debt.” Kaarle said.

Cato nodded. “You have saved us.”

“If you ever need anything—” Paithoon said then paused. “Just ask.”

Angus nodded, a little taken aback. “I am deeply honored.”

Paithoon tipped his head to Angus, and the others of the trio followed suit. “We are both honored.”

Angus looked to Oakley, who also tipped his head to him. Angus shifted from foot, unsure if he should tip his head in response.

Kaarle laughed. “Now, to work, eh?”

Angus grinned, relieved. “Ai.”